Forever

by Jacquelyn Frank

  Jackson turned back to Kamenwati, focusing all of his attention on him, trying to put Leo’s dance with death out of his mind until he could indulge in it.

  “You will explain yourself,” he hissed, leaning in close so he was staring straight into the other man’s eyes.

  “It is self-evident,” he said softly, as if completely unconcerned. No. Not unconcerned. Resigned. “And I would beg you for that bullet myself,” he went on. “But I do not have that right any longer. I’ve set loose an incredible evil on this earth, Menes. In seeking a cure for my mistress I—”

  “Your mistress is dead,” he spat.

  “It might have been better if she were,” he said. “Then none of this would have mattered. Take the bullet from the gun, etch my name upon it, and you may use it once my crime has been rectified. Make me that promise and I will stand beside you against the worst evil you could ever know.”

  It was Ahnvil’s hand on his shoulder that made Jackson realize he was shaking with the urge to pull the trigger, a bloodthirsty instinct he would never have thought himself capable of. They, both Jackson and Menes, prided themselves on their sense of fair justice. To want to do this thing so coldly and so eagerly was a stunning experience for them both.

  “You will forgive me if I demand a better explanation,” Jackson hissed into the other man’s face. It was streaked with Leo’s blood, he realized, and he could smell the pungent tang of it rising off his clothes.

  “Make me that promise, Politic, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”

  The cold and vast emptiness in Kamenwati’s voice made Jackson hesitate for a beat and for the first time he really heard what Kamen was asking of him.

  “Done.” He said it sharply but with all the fierce sincerity he could manage so that Kamen knew he meant it. He pulled back, snapped the clip lock on the gun, letting the clip drop onto Kamen’s chest. He racked back the slide of the .45, releasing the bullet in the chamber with a snap, the small metal projectile bouncing into the air. He caught it then slapped it down onto Kamen’s breastbone, digging the metal down under his barely leashed strength. “It’s yours now, Templar. Hand it to me when you are ready and I’ll gladly take your life.”

  Kamen reached for the bullet, his arm and fingers obviously weak and shaking. He took the bullet in his hand, finding a fierce store of strength to clench it in his fist.

  “Don’t renege on this, Politic pharaoh,” he said, the words more a plea than a command. Jackson had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to make of it. His rage was faltering under his confusion. “If we don’t die in the battle that is coming, then I will want this, make no mistake.”

  “You’ve heard his word,” Ahnvil said sharply. “It may mean nothing to you Templars, but Menes does not fall away from his promises.”

  I promise you, my love, that I will be right behind you.

  The last words Menes had spoken to Hatshepsut during her final moments of her most recent mortal life echoed into his mind. No, Jackson thought, we do not make promises we do not keep.” she stammered have better

  “Very well,” Kamen said, an exhalation rushing out of him so much like relief. But then his eyes became troubled again. “I have awakened a monster. I thought … my mistress was lying in a coma and I thought to rouse her with an awakening spell … so ancient it was … I had no idea what it was supposed to awaken.”

  “Oh hell no,” Ahnvil spat out. “What have you done, Templar scum?”

  “I have roused Amun’s enemy, Apep. I have set free pure evil on the world, Politic. He has been aroused in my mistress’s body and his power will grow well beyond anything Odjit ever was. And he knows all of Odjit’s thoughts. He will already be aware of you, and he will know that you are the biggest threat to his existence here on earth. Only you and others like you will have the power to stop Apep.”

  “The Politic is strong enough to repel any danger,” Ahnvil said, his pride in his employers seething out of every word.

  “Not just the Politic,” Kamen hissed. “The Gargoyles. The Djynn. The Night Angels. Every Nightwalker both known and unknown to us will have to come together, only then will we be able to defeat Apep.”

  “Known and unknown?” Jackson echoed, that part of the statement somehow being what made the most impact on him. Battle he was used to. Joining other species in battle … while not a normal occurrence it had happened once or twice before. But how could there be unknown Nightwalkers?

  “There is scripture, works in our vaults, that Odjit has been studying and trying to interpret. She was coming to believe there were twelve original Nightwalker nations. Or that at some point in the future there would be twelve. It was very unclear. But if they are out there we must find them because this is the god of chaos and destruction and his power is unlike anything we have ever thrown at one another. A rough beast has been born and he slouches toward us, Politic. Heed me … or discard me if you must. But whether or not you believe me, it will come.”

  Jackson sat back on his heels, sparing a glance up at Ahnvil and Ihron.

  “I believe you,” he said quietly. “What remains to be seen is whether or not you can be trusted. I will not turn my back on you in the name of a mutual enemy only for you to take the opportunity to slit my throat, as my friend did your mistress’s. It is just the sort of justice you would seek, Templar.”

  Jackson pushed off of Kamen, grabbing up his clip as he made it to his feet. He shot the clip into place in the butt of the gun, then locked it in and chambered a round. He put on the safety and tucked it back into his waistband.

  “Ahnvil,” he said, turning his back on Kamen, “see to it our guest is given every comfort he doesn’t deserve.” Jackson put a hand on Ahnvil’s arm to make sure the Gargoyle gave him his full attention. “He is not to be harmed, nor are we to treat him like he would have treated us. We’re better than his kind for a reason. Have a care to remember that.”

  He saw the Gargoyle think about it for a moment, and it must have taken a great deal out of him to come to the right conclusion. It must be very difficult to fight the warring nature they had been born for, Jackson thought. But that thought was all he could spare for him. He took off across the lawn in the direction Diahmond had gone.

  Marissa crept toward the men, feeling as though she were making far too much noise. She remained in the dark, though she realized that if their attention turned her way there would be no hiding from their extraordinary night vision. She envied it, especially after stubbing her toe on a rock. It would have been easier to follow the driveway, but it also would have been quite obvious as the sound of stones under her feet announced her arrival. She wasn’t interested in becoming a part of what was happening. She wasn’t foolish. She was mortal and they were quite a bit more hardy than she would be in an all-out battle with others of their ilk … namely Templars. And she had a feeling that was what this was about. Her heart was in her throat knowing Jackson was putting himself front and center for whatever was going to happen. Knowing him as she did, she knew he wouldn’t let others take risks in his stead. She suspected Menes was made of similar stuff so that made them doubly foolhardy she supposed. Or brave. She would reserve opinion for after they got back to her in one piece.

  She got close enough to see them clearly, keeping herself low to the ground against a nearby tree. She was probably just as ridiculous engaging in risky behavior as Jackson was, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to wait behind safe walls without being able to know what was happening to him.

  “Good god, Marissa Anderson, you are so damn stupid,” she muttered to herself. Of course, she ignored her own logic, and her own warnings. None of that mattered to her as much as knowing Jackson was all right.

  She saw them waiting, all attention forward, and wondered what it was they were waiting for. What did they know that she didn’t? What could they see that she couldn’t? For the first time she felt frustration and even anger over her human limitations. It was ridiculous if she thou
ght about it. Two days ago she hadn’t even known there was anything other than just human ability and sophistication out there. Now she was feeling just how insignificant the human species could be. Human hubris, their ideology that they were the be-all and end-all of intelligence in their part of the galaxy was now proved to be preposterous. What was more, it was proved to be so on their very own planet.

  She saw a man break away from the group heading in her direction and she caught her breath. She was pretty sure it was Maxwell, and he probably was being sent to make sure she was safe and sound. But when he veered off away from the house she amended her thoughts. He was being sent to make certain Angelina was safe. The understanding that even in this highly volatile moment Jackson thought to protect her sister meant so very much more to Marissa than any declaration he had made to her thus far, and she had to admit those had been pretty damn compelling.

  That was when she saw the figure coming up the drive, walking slowly and with some difficulty. She saw Jackson turn his back to him to say something in a hard tone to the Gargoyle next to him. She couldn’t hear what it was, but it was clear Jackson was giving him a command. Then she saw him turn and—

  He moved so fast he was like a streak of shadow. She saw him tackle the interloper with such force that she heard the echo of their connecting bodies. She gasped, rising almost to her full height before remembering herself and keeping low. She saw Jackson pressing his gun to the other man’s face and his body language screamed with his desire to destroy the man beneath him.

  “No,” she breathed. “Oh god, Jackson, please don’t.”

  The Jackson she knew expression on his face”

  Marissa then saw the smaller of the three Gargoyles kneel to retrieve something from the ground, and then it turned and walked in her direction. Caught in the open, knowing she would be spotted, she froze and didn’t know what else she could do but wait and face whatever condemnation was about to come her way. She stood up and the Gargoyle hesitated for a moment. That was when she realized it was female. She almost laughed with her incredulity. Why had she assumed that all Gargoyles were male? Why had it never occurred to her that there could be female counterparts?

  And that was when she realized the Gargoyle held a human male in her arms. She cradled him like a child, as though he weren’t a full-grown and very bulky weight to carry. However, the limpness of his arm as it hung free and the lolling of his head told her that he was badly injured.

  “Let’s bring him into the light where I can see him,” she said authoritatively. After all, she was very likely to be the only doctor on the premises. She could be wrong, but she wasn’t about to wait and see when it was clear someone was in imminent need of her. The Gargoyle hesitated and Marissa got the feeling she was trying not to look over her shoulder for some kind of permission from Jackson. But it was clear they both knew it wasn’t going to be forthcoming anytime soon as Jackson dealt with whoever it was that had brought the injured man. The Gargoyle nodded to her at last and they hurried back to the house.

  As soon as she could she threw some light onto them. “Put him down right here,” she said, pointing to the floor. The couch would only get in her way, and she was fairly certain he was beyond complaining about creature comforts. The Gargoyle female knelt down and laid her burden out on the floor. Marissa leaned over the man and drew in a breath of shock. He was caked in dried blood. So much so that it couldn’t possibly be all his own. There couldn’t be any way he would be alive if it were his own blood loss. Unless of course he was like these other supernatural beings. God only knew what it was they were capable of. A part of her was fretting about leaving Jackson out there on his own, as if her watching him from afar in the trees could provide him with some sort of strength or a moral compass.

  So she did her best to discard her concerns about Jackson and focused on her patient.

  “God, it’s been a few years since medical school,” she muttered. “I need to wash away some of this blood. I can’t see a damn thing.” She looked up at the imposing figure of the female Gargoyle. She was in human form, but her skin was a dark gray sheet of stone and she had no doubt it felt like it as well. She didn’t look like rough stone as she might have expected. In actuality it was more the smooth glassiness of highly polished marble. “Can you … I’m sorry your name is …?”

  “Diahmond, please,” she said. And for some reason it surprised her to hear such a normal woman’s voice coming from what was clearly such an extraordinary woman.

  “Diahmond, can you bring me a lot of water and find some towels?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “This man needs a trauma room. You need to call 911 for me as well,” she said as she gingerly tried to inspect the man for the source of the bleeding.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. We must keep a very low profile here,” she said by way of an apology when Marissa narrowed her eyes on her.

  “I don’t give a damn about your profile! This man needs help and I intend to see that he gets it.”

  “He needs a healer,” Diahmond said just as stubbornly. “You will have to suffice until one can be brought here.”

  Marissa realized they were just wasting time arguing, so she nodded stiffly to the Gargoyle. Diahmond went quickly into the rear reaches of the house.

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” she said in a whisper as she gingerly brushed at the blood scabbed thick over his eyes. “I will see to it you get the help you need.”

  She didn’t expect a reply because he was completely limp with unconsciousness. He had black hair, she believed, but that was the only discernable trait. He was in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else so he was cold to the touch. It was still too early in the spring for the nights to be anything close to warm. Diahmond returned quickly with a tub of water and some towels of varying sizes.

  “We have to find his injuries so we can stop the bleeding.” She didn’t state the obvious, which was that they were looking at a catastrophic loss of blood. Much in the same way Jackson had assumed Leo Alvarez was dead by sheer volume of—

  Marissa felt a cold finger of ice running down her spine. She took her towel to the man’s face, wiping frantically to be able to distinguish—

  “Leo!” Jackson slammed into the house and, seeing them on the floor, he hurried over to them and dropped to his knees. “Diahmond, we need a healer here ASAP.”

  “Already taken care of. I called Nané, but it will be several hours before she can get here.”

  “He won’t last that long,” Marissa said harshly. “Why won’t you just take him to a hospital? Jackson, come on! I know how much he means to you!” It was evident in the way Jackson had reached to grip Leo’s hand, the fear that was in his eyes that he, too, thought he might lose his friend.

  “I want to … but we could never explain this and it would bring undue attention on us,” Jackson hissed at her. “Don’t think I’m not doing all I can! Nané can save him; modern medicine cannot. Look at him and tell me honestly if you think the medicine of the normal world will save his life! It’s been two days since he went missing, Marissa. For two days he has been at the mercy of the Templars and god only knows what they’ve done to him in that time.”

  It was self-evident what they had done to him, but Marissa became subdued, biting anxiously at her lip as she tried to clean away some more of the blood. She began to find his injuries and—

  “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, horror lacing her words. Under all of that blood were furrows … gouges in his flesh, as though someone had taken a melon-baller to him and stripped him of chunks of his skin. Somehow they were in varying stages of healing … and none of it seemed to be a source of free-flowing blood.

  “Kamenwati m expression on his face”

  “Did he … did he do this? This Kamenwati?”

  “Probably. Maybe …” Jackson prevaricated. “I don’t know. Instinct tells me Kamen had a hand in it … although I have to admit, firsthand torture doesn’t seem like his style. But he
isn’t above hiring the job out to another.” There was hard contempt in his words and listening to him talk about the other man had her looking anxiously about.

  “Where is he?”

  “Ahnvil and Ihron have him. Let’s just say they will keep him safe until we need him again.”

  “More torture?” she snapped at him, her blue eyes full of fire. “One person isn’t enough?”

  He blinked, looking incredibly surprised at her sudden release of ichor in his direction. Then he looked hurt. Really hurt. She knew it because he didn’t jump down her throat with equal force, defending himself to the core. Instead he sighed and looked away from her.

  “I thought you knew me better than that,” he said, sounding so very lost. “But that’s been your point all along, hasn’t it? That we’re strangers to one another. That perhaps it would be best to maintain the status quo.” Then he was looking at her, the peacock blue and green of his eyes full of the fire of his temper, though he did not raise his voice. “But if I were to do that,” he said tightly, “it will be you who next lies on this floor in a bath of blood and at that point there would be nothing I could do about it! Now you see? You see what can become of you if you go off on your own? Hate this place if you will, hate me if you will, but do yourself a favor, Dr. Anderson, and stay where I can help.”

  Because he couldn’t bear being helpless, she thought, her throat tight with self-recrimination. She did know him better than this. She knew damn well he deserved much more respect from her than she was giving him.